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The Little, Tillman sagas demonstrate the value of life
By Bryan Burwell
Of the Post-Dispatch
04/24/2004
Sports Columnist Bryan Burwell
The sobering realities of everyday life can sometimes seem like so many disconnected satellites spinning madly on their separate orbits. Something happens half a world away, and it has no connection with some isolated madness way over here. Or so it seems.
Yet every so often, the satellites intersect. Whether through irony, providence or a staggering sense of the absurd, seemingly unconnected events are linked. And so it was on Saturday, where the lives of two men named Pat Tillman and Leonard Little intersected in a most unusual way.
Half a world away, Tillman, who ditched the life of an NFL millionaire two years ago to become a U.S. Army Ranger, was killed in a bitter firefight near some desolate village in Afghanistan. It was on Friday that we learned that the former Arizona Cardinal safety, who almost signed with the Rams in 2001, had died.
Less than 12 hours later - and barely six years after pleading guilty to involuntary manslaughter in a 1998 fatal accident in which he was driving drunk - Little, the Rams Pro Bowl defensive end, was arrested early Saturday morning on suspicion of driving while intoxicated on a near-empty stretch of Route 64-40 in suburban St. Louis.
Two events transpire several continents away, and they have no connection. Or so it seems.
Yet now we can't help but realize there is a connection, a link based on the staggering absurdity of their differences. Pat Tillman's tragic death will forever serve as a sobering reminder of his ultimate respect for the importance of life and freedom. By comparison, Leonard Little's repeatedly tragic life is beginning to serve as the stereotypical example of someone who has no appreciation for either life or freedom.
Of course a man is still considered innocent until proven guilty, but the voice of public opinion already has tried and convicted Little of monumental stupidity, at the very least but probably a whole lot more.
"At least he didn't kill anybody this time," Bill Gutweiler said.
Gutweiler's wife Susan was killed in June 1998 when Little's vehicle crashed into her car in downtown St. Louis. Little was suspended by the NFL for the first eight games of the 1999 season after pleading guilty to involuntary manslaughter, and sentenced to 90 days in the city workhouse and four years' probation, and ordered to perform 1,000 hours of community service.
Why Little seemingly hasn't learned sufficient lessons from the death of Susan Gutweiler and the second chance at life he was given by the local courts is something that is nearly impossible to conceive. He's innocent until proven guilty, but it's hard to understand how he could end up standing there on the shoulder of a highway with the bright police spotlights glaring in his face, and cops asking him to take a breathalyzer test.
Little made a terrible mistake six years ago that cost a wife and mother her life. He was given a second chance that Susan Gutweiler never received. How could he have no little sense of the danger he was putting himself in? How could he not remember Susan Gutweiler or all those miserable, frightening months when he was sure that they were going to throw the book at him?
Leonard Little is not a bad person. But he can not use that as a shield anymore. If he is found guilty, there is no judge in this state that will be lenient to him. There is no jury that will give him the benefit of the doubt. The Rams have to know this, too, and privately they have to know that the public relations hit they will absorb if they stand by him in the aftermath of another guilty plea or verdict will be nearly impossible to handle.
Little should have thought about all of this Saturday morning before he got in his vehicle.
The value of his life, and all the potential lives on that long stretch of open highway should have been on his mind Saturday morning.
The value of life was something Pat Tillman understood. He was willing to give his life to preserve our freedom. In his death, Tillman serves as the public face of the American soldier. But I also have seen the not-so-public face of the American soldier, and we need to know them, too.
Saturday afternoon at Lambert Airport, just outside the maze of security gates on the main concourse, a tall, skinny young man with a tight crew cut is saying goodbye to his family. On his shoulder is a garment bag with the U.S. Army logo on it. His clear-shaven, young face is the not-so-public face of the American soldier.
His father offers a firm farewell handshake. His mother hugs him. A little girl, maybe 3 years old, kisses the American soldier.
The father and mother stand at the security gate and watch the young man through the glass and metal partitions and metal detectors. They stand there until they can no longer see him. There are no tears. But they linger for a long time.
"It's strange, very strange," said the father, who did not want to be interviewed. "It's strange watching your son leave home. It's strange not knowing when or if they will call him to war."
Then the family walks away, past the stores, past the snack shops, and shoeshine stands. Just before they reach the exit doors to the parking lot, they pass the glass doors that open to the James S. McDonnell USO at Lambert Airport.
Inside the door hangs a framed poem, an ode to fighting men like their son, like the late Pat Tillman.
IT HAS ALWAYS BEEN THE SOLDIER
It is the soldier
Not the reporter,
Who has given us
freedom of the press
It is the soldier
Not the poet
Who has given us
the freedom of speech
It is the soldier
Not the campus organizer
Who has given us
freedom to demonstrate
It is the soldier
Who salutes the flag
Who serves beneath the flag
And whose coffin
is draped by the flag
Who allows the protester
to burn the flag
The sobering realities of life do intersect sometimes. Life is important. Pat Tillman and all those faceless young soldiers know the value of life and paid the ultimate price.
It's about time Leonard Little learns the lesson.
By Bryan Burwell
Of the Post-Dispatch
04/24/2004
Sports Columnist Bryan Burwell
The sobering realities of everyday life can sometimes seem like so many disconnected satellites spinning madly on their separate orbits. Something happens half a world away, and it has no connection with some isolated madness way over here. Or so it seems.
Yet every so often, the satellites intersect. Whether through irony, providence or a staggering sense of the absurd, seemingly unconnected events are linked. And so it was on Saturday, where the lives of two men named Pat Tillman and Leonard Little intersected in a most unusual way.
Half a world away, Tillman, who ditched the life of an NFL millionaire two years ago to become a U.S. Army Ranger, was killed in a bitter firefight near some desolate village in Afghanistan. It was on Friday that we learned that the former Arizona Cardinal safety, who almost signed with the Rams in 2001, had died.
Less than 12 hours later - and barely six years after pleading guilty to involuntary manslaughter in a 1998 fatal accident in which he was driving drunk - Little, the Rams Pro Bowl defensive end, was arrested early Saturday morning on suspicion of driving while intoxicated on a near-empty stretch of Route 64-40 in suburban St. Louis.
Two events transpire several continents away, and they have no connection. Or so it seems.
Yet now we can't help but realize there is a connection, a link based on the staggering absurdity of their differences. Pat Tillman's tragic death will forever serve as a sobering reminder of his ultimate respect for the importance of life and freedom. By comparison, Leonard Little's repeatedly tragic life is beginning to serve as the stereotypical example of someone who has no appreciation for either life or freedom.
Of course a man is still considered innocent until proven guilty, but the voice of public opinion already has tried and convicted Little of monumental stupidity, at the very least but probably a whole lot more.
"At least he didn't kill anybody this time," Bill Gutweiler said.
Gutweiler's wife Susan was killed in June 1998 when Little's vehicle crashed into her car in downtown St. Louis. Little was suspended by the NFL for the first eight games of the 1999 season after pleading guilty to involuntary manslaughter, and sentenced to 90 days in the city workhouse and four years' probation, and ordered to perform 1,000 hours of community service.
Why Little seemingly hasn't learned sufficient lessons from the death of Susan Gutweiler and the second chance at life he was given by the local courts is something that is nearly impossible to conceive. He's innocent until proven guilty, but it's hard to understand how he could end up standing there on the shoulder of a highway with the bright police spotlights glaring in his face, and cops asking him to take a breathalyzer test.
Little made a terrible mistake six years ago that cost a wife and mother her life. He was given a second chance that Susan Gutweiler never received. How could he have no little sense of the danger he was putting himself in? How could he not remember Susan Gutweiler or all those miserable, frightening months when he was sure that they were going to throw the book at him?
Leonard Little is not a bad person. But he can not use that as a shield anymore. If he is found guilty, there is no judge in this state that will be lenient to him. There is no jury that will give him the benefit of the doubt. The Rams have to know this, too, and privately they have to know that the public relations hit they will absorb if they stand by him in the aftermath of another guilty plea or verdict will be nearly impossible to handle.
Little should have thought about all of this Saturday morning before he got in his vehicle.
The value of his life, and all the potential lives on that long stretch of open highway should have been on his mind Saturday morning.
The value of life was something Pat Tillman understood. He was willing to give his life to preserve our freedom. In his death, Tillman serves as the public face of the American soldier. But I also have seen the not-so-public face of the American soldier, and we need to know them, too.
Saturday afternoon at Lambert Airport, just outside the maze of security gates on the main concourse, a tall, skinny young man with a tight crew cut is saying goodbye to his family. On his shoulder is a garment bag with the U.S. Army logo on it. His clear-shaven, young face is the not-so-public face of the American soldier.
His father offers a firm farewell handshake. His mother hugs him. A little girl, maybe 3 years old, kisses the American soldier.
The father and mother stand at the security gate and watch the young man through the glass and metal partitions and metal detectors. They stand there until they can no longer see him. There are no tears. But they linger for a long time.
"It's strange, very strange," said the father, who did not want to be interviewed. "It's strange watching your son leave home. It's strange not knowing when or if they will call him to war."
Then the family walks away, past the stores, past the snack shops, and shoeshine stands. Just before they reach the exit doors to the parking lot, they pass the glass doors that open to the James S. McDonnell USO at Lambert Airport.
Inside the door hangs a framed poem, an ode to fighting men like their son, like the late Pat Tillman.
IT HAS ALWAYS BEEN THE SOLDIER
It is the soldier
Not the reporter,
Who has given us
freedom of the press
It is the soldier
Not the poet
Who has given us
the freedom of speech
It is the soldier
Not the campus organizer
Who has given us
freedom to demonstrate
It is the soldier
Who salutes the flag
Who serves beneath the flag
And whose coffin
is draped by the flag
Who allows the protester
to burn the flag
The sobering realities of life do intersect sometimes. Life is important. Pat Tillman and all those faceless young soldiers know the value of life and paid the ultimate price.
It's about time Leonard Little learns the lesson.
